Tenth Street Reds
by spicyshimmy
Summary: Earthborn orphan John Shepard and rich-kid Kaidan Alenko-fresh out of a bad experience in 'brain camp'-meet in Vancouver during the former's time as a member of the Tenth Street Reds. Shepard doesn't scare Kaidan off with his dancing, and that has to m


The first thing Shepard noticed was his ass.

All the rest fell into place after that, even with the strobing club lights making it hard to see. Shepard knew his whole story in two seconds, maybe less, a personal system he'd developed for not getting screwed over by strangers while they were doing business together.

Yeah. '_Business._'

It happened a lot, about as much as you'd guess. So pretty much always.

Figuring people out, knowing what their deal was just from looking them up and down, wasn't a natural gift. It took time, patience, hard work and quick eyes. And also the desire not to get screwed over. If you had enough of that in the right combination, suddenly, it was easier than it sounded.

It was a pretty nice ass but the rest of him was trouble. He was obviously one of those rich earthborn kids who'd never had to choke down a moldy old protein that tasted like krogan shit, who went to a private school with a long, tired name, everything paid for by mom and dad, while _he_ had too much free time to think about how tough his life was or something.

'Quit it for like, _two seconds_, Shep,' Finch said. 'Flirt on your _own_ damn time for a change. Don't screw this up.'

'Hey, I was just looking,' Shepard said.

He was also wondering what a nice rich kid like that was doing in a club like this. Slumming it, probably. Living on the edge. Wanting to see somebody get shot or arrested and hauled off, the thrill that came with it. The adrenaline rush.

From New York to Vancouver, it was always the same.

And Finch was sweating like he was sixty instead of sixteen, breathing harder than a volus. Shepard threw an arm around him and steered him toward some of the private seating so he'd stop ruining the ambiance of the place, leaving the dance floor behind.

The club was called _Inferno_ but the closest it came to what it promised was sweaty dancers, none of them so hot they were actually about to burn up.

The asari they were supposed to meet for their cut of the job was late—and Finch was gonna vaporize if he kept thinking about it. There was only so much a guy could sweat, and Shepard wasn't interested in probing those limits _or_ slipping in the puddle they made. His bruised ribs weren't giving him as much trouble as he thought; if Finch could just relax and enjoy the view for a while, he'd be a lot happier as a person.

So would Shepard.

So would the bouncer watching them.

'Pretty sure we've been made,' Shepard said, reaching for somebody's abandoned drink, bright blue in a tall glass. He downed it and almost choked. It tasted worse than dinner last night, the same sweet blue of the coloring in the liquid. 'Go find somebody to dance with, Finch.'

'Like you weren't hoping that'd happen all along.' Finch scanned the crowd and picked out the bouncer, shoulders twitching before he looked away. 'How is it things always work out so well for _you_, anyway?'

'Hey,' Shepard said. '_I'm_ the one with the busted ribs.'

'Could be worse.' Finch rubbed the fading bruise on his cheekbone, the cut they'd stolen medigel to treat before it got infected. 'Have fun. I know you will anyway, so whatever.'

'What's that say about your outlook on life, Finch?' Shepard asked, already backing away through the crowd. 'Maybe you should think about that while _I'm_ off having a blast.'

It was dark in the club, but not so dark that Shepard couldn't see it when Finch rolled his eyes. Under the strobes, it looked like he was having a fit or an allergic reaction to dextro-proteins. It was pretty common these days—put enough starving kids around supplies the Alliance had brokered for their turian allies and you wound up with a lot of sick humans.

Luckily, no one looked twice at that kind of thing in a club. You could drop dead in the middle of _Inferno_ and the asari would go right on dancing. There was something almost poetic about that, Shepard thought. For a species that might appreciate poetry, anyway.

Not any earthborn; not these days. He'd heard some stuff about the hanar, though, and he was willing to try it out—if he had to.

The rich kid was still there, dancing near a group of mercs. If the job had gone through like it was supposed to and Shepard had the credits to lay down, he'd have been willing to bet _he_ didn't knowthey were mercs. He was like anyone else, drawn in by their shiny armor and the way the drinks kept coming. Maybe he even liked the look of the blonde in the middle—without having the experience to know she was the craziest of the bunch, and bloodthirsty as a vorcha with her back against the wall.

A guy heard things in the Reds. And none of it was good for breaking the ice with Little Lord Stanley Park over there.

Shepard wasn't about to win him over with his dancing, either. So he went with a classic.

'Come here often?' It took some doing—and the pain in his chest helped—but Shepard managed to keep his hands from flying up over his head as he fit himself into the natural rhythm, stepping in time where the bodies were packed close together. Some would say too close, bumping elbows with all kinds of people, but it wasn't anything worse than what Shepard saw every other day. Somebody stepped on his toes. He let them, and let the fight happen somewhere else.

The kid blinked. He was older than Shepard had pegged him for at the beginning of the night, almost too old to be caught up in the mystique of a place like _Inferno_.

'Yeah. I _was_ talking to you,' Shepard said, because the clarification was necessary, and there was a look on Stanley Park's face like _Who, me?_ 'Let me guess—it's your first time, right?'

'No, actually.' He didn't raise his voice to be heard over the music, a deep beat they were both following. Tentative, though. Shepard, at least, was moving closer more than he was pulling back, but the same couldn't be said for his new friend Stanley. 'It's not.'

'Could've fooled me.' Shepard had to jam his hands into his pockets in order to keep his arms from going up in the air when the music swelled, the bass steady. 'Doesn't look like this is your kind of place.'

'Sorry—do I _know_ you?' Stanley asked.

Shepard had to get another name for him. Dark eyebrows, big eyes, fussy kind of mouth Shepard couldn't stop staring at—Stanley didn't suit him at all. Not as well as what he was wearing, clothes just as fussy as his mouth, but it looked good on him all the same.

'Not yet you don't,' Shepard said. 'I was hoping we could fix that when I asked for your name and got you a drink.'

The kid blinked again. His mouth forgot to be fussy, just for a second, lips parted.

Then, he arched a brow, Shepard moving in closer. He knew the type. His manners were too good, a different set of reflexes and instincts he wouldn't be able to resist when the right buttons got pushed, or when the right wires were crossed.

'Shepard,' Shepard said.

'Kaidan,' Stanley replied. The muscle in his jaw tightened, the corner of his eye crinkling. '…Wow, okay, so _that_ worked.'

'Hell yeah it did.' Shepard snagged one of the drinks on its way by—and fortunately it wasn't one of the blue ones. 'And here's the drink I promised you, too. Don't say I never gave you anything.'

'Maybe that's what I'm trying to avoid,' Kaidan said, but he took the drink anyway. He even brought it up to his face to sniff it and Shepard couldn't help it; he had to laugh.

'That was cute,' he said. 'Go ahead, drink it. It's on me.'

'Actually…' Kaidan paused, like he already knew deep down he was going to keep talking, but it was worth it to pretend to himself he might not anyway. 'You just took it. Off that tray. You didn't _really_—'

'Details.' Shepard's hip bumped his and he nearly spilled the drink. He was jumpy, or maybe just tense, something Shepard couldn't figure out. That made it interesting. 'Don't get _too_ hung up on 'em. Maybe later you can return the favor.'

'By stealing someone else's drink and giving it to you?' Kaidan asked.

'Then I'll know you _really_ care,' Shepard replied.

Kaidan rolled his eyes, but he didn't look like he was having a fit. It was more like he needed to break eye contact and that was the quickest way he could think to do it.

Shepard decided he'd take that as a compliment, even if it _was_ obvious something else had done most of the legwork in getting Kaidan hot and bothered. It wasn't trouble with the mercs either—he hadn't looked twice at them since Shepard appeared on his radar.

Another mystery to file away in the omni-tool for later.

Rich, older, and tangled as a supply line out in the Terminus Systems. Shepard knew better than to run _toward _a flashing red light, but he'd used up all his better judgment on toning down the dance moves.

'Listen,' Kaidan said. He'd given up ignoring Shepard—or at least he'd given up pretending like he wanted to. One hurdle down, too many left to count. 'If you're looking for someone to buy you drinks because your fake ID didn't work at the doors, I'm not your guy.'

'Not my guy _yet_.' Shepard grinned, and it only got wider when Kaidan's lips pursed up again, like he was trying not to grin back. 'What makes you think I'm underage? Maybe I came over here to check out _your_ credentials.'

Kaidan swallowed, the white bob of his throat jerky under the static start-and-stop of the lights. He hadn't taken a sip of his drink yet, but he _also_ hadn't tossed it. That had to mean something.

Only a guy with Shepard's luck could afford to be an optimist. Finch was always saying that.

But Finch was on his own now and Shepard wasn't. At the end of the day, that counted.

'You sure that's all you came over here to check out?' Kaidan asked. His voice was hoarse but he wasn't a shouter, trying to be heard over the thump of the bass and the mercs and everything else.

That was fine, better than fine. It meant Shepard had to lean in close to hear what he was saying, and _that_ meant he could feel Kaidan's breath on his cheek when he spoke. It was the best excuse there was, although there was still that drink to consider.

_Before_ things got fast, busy, and _somebody_ spilled it.

'You got me.' Shepard let his breath do the same thing, ghosting at Kaidan's throat when he spoke. 'Seriously. C'mon. Let's dance.'

'I thought we _were_ dancing,' Kaidan muttered, but he finally went for the drink, downing it in two long gulps, the first one not measured right and the second leaving him wincing.

'The blue stuff's even worse,' Shepard said, untucking his hand from his pocket and looping it into one of Kaidan's, across that final distance. It was easy, smooth, and someone was always there to take away the unwanted glasses now that they were empty. And Shepard's ribs only felt busted most of the time he took air into his lungs instead of all of the time, which was how they'd been yesterday.

'I'll take your word for it.' Kaidan didn't bother with being loud. They were close enough that Shepard could hear him anyway.

Then, it was nothing but the dancing, losing themselves in the mix of the crowd, humans and aliens and none of it important.

That was kind of the point.

Maybe, _maybe_, it had something to do with getting the bouncer to look somewhere else, but there was more to it than that. Shepard had been watching this kid since he stepped in the door, and now, Kaidan was watching back.

Shepard only did the arm thing once, possibly twice, when everything was too loud not to do it. But he also put his hand on Kaidan's hip at one point, pulling him close where there wasn't room for anything big or fancy, and it was hot and hard like a fist to the gut. Kaidan ducked his head somewhere by Shepard's shoulder and Shepard closed his arm around the small of his back, and the blonde merc shouted at them to _get it_, and Shepard grinned. He did, grinding their hips together before the current song bled into the next and they lost the rhythm.

They'd find it again.

_If_ Kaidan didn't lose his nerve first.

Shepard waited for it, Kaidan lifting his head with an expression that'd let Shepard know how the rest of his night was going to play out. Guys like him usually reacted one of two ways and it all had to do with what they'd been drinking that night, why they'd shown up in the first place.

'You were serious about that dance, huh?' Kaidan asked, not as breathless as Shepard felt.

The muscles between his ribs flinched and he rubbed his chest like he was thinking, like he was feeling Kaidan's words instead of something that went deeper.

Then, a hand closed on his shoulder. Big, strong grip. It felt turian.

Luckily Shepard's cracked bones didn't reach that high. Nothing killed a pick-up faster than cringingon the first date.

'If you're looking to cut in, you gotta wait until the song's over,' Shepard said, glancing over his shoulder but making sure to keep it casual. Yeah; it was a turian. You could always tell from the fingers. 'I don't know how they do things on Palaven, but around _here_, that's just good manners.'

The turian laughed. The sound whistled like a guy with a punctured lung, too much air flooding in somewhere it shouldn't. 'Got reports of gang activity springing up around _Inferno_. Turns out the owner's not keen on bad press.'

Kaidan stilled, like all of a sudden he was listening with both ears. Shepard didn't mind the unwanted attention as much as the loss of Kaidan's hips against his.

'So?' Shepard asked.

'_So,_' the turian said. His grip didn't slacken, three fingers digging tight into Shepard's collarbone. 'How about we go somewhere quiet and you start singing—the kind of tune that explains how red sand trafficking in this place has doubled in the last three months.'

It wasn't a question. He didn't bother with making it into one.

'You think I look old enough to have those connections?' Shepard said. 'Come on.'

'You're old enough to be in this club.' The turian's eyes were red like a warning siren. 'Now _aren't_ you?'

_Shit, _Shepard thought but didn't say. Running circles around the turian authority meant stepping faster than he was used to. Nothing more.

'Actually, he came in with me,' Kaidan said, as light on his feet now as he'd been on the dance floor. He held out his hand, which meant the turian would have to let go of Shepard to shake it. 'Kaidan Alenko.'

'Alenko?' the turian said. Something like recognition flickered in his eyes; the light reminded Shepard of a datapad working double-time to process an influx of information.

Kaidan's mouth twisted—but not in the fun way. He either didn't know he had the upper hand, or he wasn't enjoying it the way he should've.

That was interesting.

Shepard stepped closer to him anyway, sliding his arm around Kaidan's waist—not for the first time that night and, with the way things were going, maybe not the last. The angle was different, hand settling on Kaidan's hip, thumb tucked into a pocket, with only a thin lining between his thumb and Kaidan's skin. He flashed the turian some teeth when he smiled.

'Yeah,' he said. 'We came in together. Don't worry about the mix-up; it happens. I've got one of those faces, you know?'

'I _do_ know,' the turian replied.

Wherever Finch was, if he saw this going down, he was definitely vaporizing.

At least Shepard wasn't asking the _turian_ to dance. Although that did give him an idea.

'I'll catch you next song,' Shepard said. 'Might even teach you some of my moves.'

Sometimes, the only way to get a guy off your back was to _show_ him your back, which Shepard did—without reservation. Nine times out of ten, it worked. Tenth time, you were turning your blind spot to an armed hostile. Might as well paint on a neon target and give them free shooting practice.

But _Inferno_ wasn't as hot as it liked to think it was. Shepard could feel the turian watching him, but when no gunfire rang out, he knew he was safe. The music came rushing back over the noise of all that blood in his ears.

'Guess I owe you another drink,' he said.

'That you'll steal from somebody else's order,' Kaidan replied. 'Mind telling me what the _hell_ that was about?'

'You know how turians are. Always have to be intense about something.' Shepard shrugged. His thumb was still in Kaidan's pocket, rubbing against a wrinkle of something simple, something soft. Shepard was shorter, not by much, so until they got face to face it was barely even noticeable—and when they _were_ face to face, Shepard actually liked it. He tilted his chin up but Kaidan held his ground; Shepard liked that, too. 'Alenko, huh?'

'Yeah.' Kaidan looked away at that, eyes narrowed but unfocused, staring into the crowd. Then, he snapped back to attention. 'So—Palaven? Guess you like the turians more than they seem to like you.'

'It's no big deal,' Shepard said.

Kaidan wasn't buying. 'You don't exactly seem like the type who's ever been off-world.'

'And you don't exactly seem like the type who's ever been to _Inferno_,' Shepard replied.

'You had to go there,' Kaidan said.

Shepard dug his fingers in, not too hard, only enough to see Kaidan's mouth go crooked again. It did. 'Thanks for the save, by the way. No questions asked, right?'

'And no answers given,' Kaidan said.

It wasn't an unfamiliar exchange. The music stuttered into something more up-tempo and Kaidan nodded off the dance floor, showing off a side of his profile Shepard hadn't seen before. 'They're still watching. You might want to get out now, unless you really _are_ looking to dance with that turian.'

'Are _you_ looking to get out of here?' Shepard asked. It wasn't too dark for the twinkle in his eye to go undetected. _Are you finally getting flirty on me, Alenko?_

And all it took was a near-interrogation with a turian bouncer to coax it out of him. With some guys, you never could predict what'd get their blood pumping.

Kaidan sighed. It wasn't a yes, but he wasn't shooting Shepard out of the sky just yet either.

'You _really _don't know when to quit, do you?' Kaidan asked.

He started off the dance floor, heading toward one of the many exits _Inferno _advertised just to prove they weren't actually a fire hazard. Shepard sidled after him, not too fast—but also not too slow.

'I mean…' Kaidan glanced over his shoulder. Shepard saw a flicker of white scar-tissue at his temple, curved like a knife-wound, something that didn't exactly match the rich kid package. That was all right. Shepard was starting to think he was more interested in the Kaidan Alenko package—whatever that came with. 'Most guys would give up after the _first_ arrest attempt.'

'I'm not most guys,' Shepard said, swerving so their hips bumped together again. 'Stick around, Kaidan. Maybe you'll learn a few things.'


End file.
